


Big Things, Little Details

by tielan



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Not Avengers: Infinity War Compliant, Post-Infinity War, Sedoretu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-12 21:47:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12969072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan





	Big Things, Little Details

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Meatball42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meatball42/gifts).



Betty is separating eggs when Natasha finds her in the facility kitchen.

She’s pretending each crack of a shell is Bruce’s impossibly thick head, while the sound of the shell breaking is the slap of her palm against Brunnhilde’s perfect curve of a cheek. Okay, so it’s small and petty and stupid, because Bruce still carries the Hulk around, and Brunnhilde is basically indestructable considering she survived Hela not once, but _twice_ , but it’s also soothing.

Natasha sits at the benchtop and flips her phone to face down as she folds her arms on the marble counter. “I think I’m glad you weren’t around when Bruce and I were working together at the tower.”

Betty huffs as she dumps the egg yolk in the bowl of yolks and pours the egg white in the small bowl into the stand mixer. “She’s just so...familiar with him! And don’t tell me she’s been working with him for the last two years, because, a) she was working with the Other Guy, and b) I know what happens when you work with Bruce for two years!”

Long hours and enthusiastic theories, wild imaginings and flights of fancy, takeout and beer and long, lazy conversations that turn into long, lazy lovemaking...

“Now I’m really glad you weren’t around when Bruce and I were working at the tower.” Natasha eyes the ingredients on the counter. “Sponge cake?”

“Yes.” Betty hands Natasha the flour bag, a bowl, and a sieve. “Two cups. Sift twice.”

Natasha doesn’t argue, doesn’t reason, doesn’t say what Betty should think or feel. She doesn’t tell Betty that she shouldn’t be jealous of the Asgardian woman who looks like she’s an item with Thor but is still very personal with Bruce. She just sits there and sifts dry ingredients while Betty relieves her feelings by watching the egg whites whip into peaks.

It’s not that she wants Bruce back exactly, but there are uncomfortable truths to her life that require facing. She’s forty, with none of the ‘expected’ markers of a woman her age. Her father isn’t pleased about that perceived ‘lack’ in her personal life, and even less pleased about her decision to work professionally with a group of people he tried to leash and then had to let free so they could save the planet (and the galaxy) from a being who wanted to destroy everything as a gift to his girlfriend, Death.

On top of which, it’s just plain depressing to know the Valkyrie is ten thousand years old, give or take a couple of centuries, and is still utterly stunning, while Betty can see her crows feet every time she smiles. And sure, impossible beauty standards for women, etc., but it’s one thing to know it and it’s another thing entirely to _feel_ it.

Really, these days, Betty mostly feels old.

She watches Natasha fold the flour and sugar into the egg mixtures, the muscles of her arm and shoulder flexing as she stirs. It’s still as hypnotic as the first time she watched the other woman kneading dough in the safehouse in South America, two women – one the daughter of the man hunting for the other, neither of them particularly trusting, but learning to enjoy each others’ company.

Betty steadies the bowl with one hand and holds the tin with the other as Natasha scrapes the mix in, then runs her finger around the sticky rim, collecting the raw mix. It’s a habit more than actual desire to eat the mix; when she was young and her mother was cooking, she’d let Betty run her fingers over the bowl and lick them. It wasn’t until Betty was nearly thirty that she started doing any baking on her own, and discovered the instinct to swipe her fingers across the bowl and lick them was near-irresistible—

Warm fingers ring her wrist, strong and sure on her skin. A flush steals over her cheeks as her hand is tugged up to Natasha’s mouth, and the fingers are delicately sucked clean of mix.

When Natasha puts her mouth to Betty’s, Betty can taste the sweetness of the cake on the tongue that slides sensuously against hers before Natasha pulls back.

“How long do we have?”

“At least half an hour.”

Natasha smiles.

They put the cake in the oven and set a timer on Natasha’s phone. Then they retire to Betty’s room and make their own sweetness.

* * *

 

For Natasha, the most inconvenient thing about working with Bucky Barnes is the attraction. She worked with Steve almost daily for the better part of three years, and while she occasionally thought about kissing him just to see what he’d do, it was no more than a casual thought. Bucky is a different beast; all Steve’s courtesy and character but with a leavening touch of mischief that’s still overshadowed by the grim spectre of the Winter Soldier.

Apparently, something in her is drawn to that.

Like when he flings himself down into the couch opposite Natasha one afternoon and asks, “Should I ask what’s going on between Ross and Brunnhilde?”

Natasha considers how much she should say. “You’ve never seen jealousy before?”

“Well, yes, but...” He colors. “I thought you and Ms. Ross were...”

“That only keeps Ms. Ross from seeing another woman.”

His mouth drops open a little. “You mean, you would be okay with her and Bruce? Weren’t _you_ interested in Banner once?”

The safest thing to say is just, “It didn’t work out.”

Bruce is more than happy to be friends – for a few days, she thought he might be interested in more. But friendship is all Natasha wants of him now, and he seems content to give that. His friendship with Valkyrie probably contributes to that. The new roster of the Avengers – along with their support staff – means there are more women for him to be friends with in a professional capacity.

“Ah.” He rests his face on the prosthesis, metal knuckles pressing against his mouth and nose as he contemplates her with hooded eyes.

Natasha fights to keep still. She’s the Black Widow, an Avenger, a former agent of S.H.I.E.L.D, and a graduate of the Red Room. She does _not_ squirm when a man looks at her like he can’t decide whether to kiss her senseless or kill her dead. To distract her (and him), she asks lightly, “So, are _you_ thinking of making a move on Bruce?”

His eyes drop to the coffee table and a pink flush rises over the tips of his ears. Natasha realizes that, yes, she _can_ be jealous of Bruce.

“A guy can think about it,” he mutters. “But it’s a big ask.”

“Well...you’d be climbing into the Hulk’s bed as well,” Natasha hears herself saying. “So maybe it’s a big ask of you, too?”

Bucky’s smile is a little pained. “You thought about it?”

“Yes. But I didn’t... That wasn’t the deciding factor. We just didn’t suit.”

“Unlike you and Betty.”

“Yes.”

He studies her for a moment, the flush on his ears staining his cheeks. Then he smiles, ruefully. “So...if you and Betty are okay with seeing someone else so long as it’s not another woman...would you think about seeing me? I know it’s...complicated...”

“Yes.”

“We could go slowly—Yes?”

“We don’t have to go slowly.”

“Like...now?”

“If you want.” She watches Bucky blink and fights back a laugh at the stunned expression on his face. Sometimes it’s hard to reconcile Steve’s stories of ‘Bucky’ with the man she’s come to know in the last year, but Steve’s ‘Bucky’ was a different man with a different history. Natasha thinks she would have smiled at Sergeant James Barnes, even as she kept him at arm’s length. Bucky Barnes, Captain America, is a different proposition entirely.

“You don’t need me to list the reasons why?”

“Need? No.” Not when he works with her, works alongside her, relaxes with her, comfortable speaking of friendships, relationships, and desire with her. Natasha has never needed icing on her cake if the cake is good enough to eat plain. That doesn’t mean she’ll refuse icing if it’s offered. “But how about you tell me as we go along?”

* * *

 

Bucky checks that Betty is okay with them both seeing Natasha. He has enough people displeased at him for taking up not just the shield but also Steve’s mantle as Cap that he doesn’t want another person off-side – especially not someone who’s so personally involved in the Avengers.

Especially not someone who’s so personally involved with Avengers that Bucky wants to be personally involved with, too.

“No, it’s fine. But it’s really sweet of you to check.” Her smile has an almost luminous quality about it, reflective of the way she deals with everything from assassins to scientists. Bucky understands perfectly why Natasha goes to her for peace and quiet, why Bruce stutters and stumbles over his words when she walks in the door of the lounge.

He knows what the burning sharpness in his chest is when Bruce watches her go with open wistfulness.

“I...uh...I probably come across as a creeper?” Bruce says when he turns back and finds Bucky watching him. “I didn’t—it wasn’t so bad when we were dating. I mean, she was always out of my league, but...”

“No.” Bucky hastens to reassure him. “You don’t. And you weren’t. She’s just...something else.”

The wry, lopsided smile makes his heart lurch. “She is that.” The dark eyes study him keenly. “You’re not interested yourself?”

“No. I’m...you know I’m with Natasha?”

“Yes.” Bruce’s mouth flickers in a smile. “She’s something else, too.”

“I know.” Bucky hesitates to ask, but he needs to know. “You’re not bitter...?”

“Oh, no. We’re friends. Could have been more but I...I wasn’t in a good place at the time.”

Bucky knows all about not being in good places. He’s pretty sure Sam made overtures back while he was still working through his headspace. Now, though, Sam’s eyes are full of stars...yellow, eight-pointed ones on a well-shaped chest. Bucky would make a joke about Sam and older women, but, well, that technically makes Bucky a dirty old man.

“And...now?”

Bruce looks at him keenly. He’s four parts absent-minded mad scientist, but that fifth part? That’s the man who came up with a variant of what Erskine did to Steve, who worked out how to contain and control the being that came out of it, and who’s negotiated what’s basically a body-sharing arrangement between that being and his intellectual consciousness – two very distinct parts of his psyche. “Why the twenty questions? I mean, I know why, but...why now?”

The answer reveals more than Bucky is comfortable showing. “Indulge me?”

“I still have to ask someone to risk the Hulk, and that’s not really fair.”

“Is it more or less fair than asking Natasha to risk the Winter Soldier?”

“That’s...It’s not the same.”

“Not exactly the same. But I can take a bit of damage. And...” Bucky swallows. “I think you’d be worth it.”

The stillness and the blank, shocked stare is both exhilarating and frightening. “Wait, you’re propositioning _me_? Really?”

“Do you want convincing?”

“I... But I’m not...” Bruce winces. “I’m not young anymore.”

“If that mattered, I wouldn’t be asking.”

Bruce looks at him for a long, silent moment. Then he drops his gaze. “I think...I think I need to think about this a bit. It’s been a while. Actually, quite a while.”

“Okay.” But it’s not in Bucky’s nature just to give up without pushing a little. “May I...Will you take a tad of convincing?”

“Depends on the ‘tad’.”

He takes that as the invitation it is.

In spite of her no-nonsense approach, Natasha kissed cautiously, like she wanted to taste him before deciding whether to keep him. Bruce kisses like he’s sure, but he’s waiting for something – Bucky, the Hulk, an alien invasion... _something_...

Bucky makes sure the thing Bruce is waiting for isn’t him.

* * *

 

Brunnhilde finds it amusing.

At least someone does.

“Why don’t you take her to bed? Or to dinner, since that seems to be your people’s preferred method of getting someone to bed you?”

Bruce winces internally. The Valkyrie trying to assist his love life is...not the definition of helpful. For starters, she’s a lot more direct than he is. “It’s complicated.”

Mostly, though, it’s embarrassing. Betty has Natasha now, and while the two women aren’t exactly lovey-dovey, there are indicators of just how intimate they are. Natasha bumps her cheek against Betty’s shoulder as she passes her in the kitchen, and Betty brings Natasha mugs of tea in the ready-room – and that’s to say nothing of their lack of personal space.

Okay, so mostly it’s embarrassing to be caught watching them kiss – the way Natasha curls her hands in Betty’s hair and plasters herself against Betty’s body. And it’s hot. Not just because they’re beautiful women, but because it’s...intimate. Personal. And...kind of sensuous.

Betty laughs when she teases him about watching them later, and he tries to explain why he was staring – that it wasn’t sheer prurience. “You look like that with Bucky, you know.”

“I do? We do?”

“What was it Jerry Lo used to say? ‘ _Fatuous_.’”

“Jerry didn’t mean it as a compliment. It’s the same root word as ‘infatuated’,” Bruce reminds her.

“Well, _I_ liked it.” Betty dimples. “Of course, I was the one you were infatuated with at the time, so...”

“It wasn’t _infatuation_.” Bruce doesn’t like the way it diminishes what they were to each other. “It was love!” Maybe it’s ridiculous to be annoyed by a specific word, but she’s staring at him with an odd look on her face. Like she’s expecting him to turn on a dime. “I’m not going to flip to the Other Guy!”

She blinks. “I never thought you were.”

“Oh. Well, then...”

“Bruce...” Betty hesitates, then lifts her chin and rushes in, earnest and intent as she always was. “The Other Guy doesn’t worry me. Not the way you worry about him. He’s just...another aspect of you – much narrower in personality and outlook, and...and kind of childish—”

“More id than ego,” Bruce mutters, then clears his throat.

“But still...well-intentioned, and with a good heart. Okay, so he’s a little volatile...” The dimple dips into her cheek again. “Maybe he’s not that different from you—”

“Oh, you did _not_ —” Bruce may not be young anymore, but he’s still fast enough to catch Betty and tickle her, trap her against the wall and revel in the way she squirms against him – not all struggle, since her palms are flat against his hips and she’s looking up at him like—

They’re not young anymore. The sex is less about breathless pleasure and more about...exploring by inches and layers. Changes and differences. Wondering and smiling and poking at the flabby bits before moving onto bits that maybe aren’t so flabby right now. And Bruce knows more, about rhythms and breathing and edges and waiting. About how rare is the peace afterwards when she’s still all tangled up in him, and he’s cuddled up to her.

“That was like old married sex,” Betty says, then blushes. “I mean—”

He puts a finger over her lips. “I will always have old married sex with you.”

Her laughter is a delighted gurgle that fills the room with lightness. “Promise?”

“Absolutely.”


End file.
